Seasons

My main emblems
Have begun to fade
Into a soft glow
An aura
Of whispers and tilting
With wind bending
My point of view
So that birds land
Upon my boughs
To which I can take
No meaning hidden
And softly acknowledge
Ancient Gaia’s shift
As seasons go.

Draining Memories

Though I fall far from the Pacific’s graceful shores
I swim with my head held high
Through sea-birds and sea-weeds
And crabs at my toes.

A memory I chose to keep
Brings a feather to the ground,
The wind high on snowy mountains
I can see from the shore
With city sprawl developments
Slowly creeping further West.

So I sing to the lapping
Of this cold ocean’s running tide.
My musings of a sandpiper
Leaving its webbed footprints there,
And barnacles in tidal pools
Slowly draining you know where.

Fragments of Meaning

Take my visual fragments
And place them at the foot
Of an old chedi,
For I don’t want my queues
To scatter my own thoughts
Like a back alley
I’ve stood for too long admiring.

Take my meaning
And lessen it’s grip
For it crawls
And has not yet learned
The intricacies of
Falling and getting up,
Though these scuffed knees
Have surely tried
Against the pain.

Hold my hand and remember
That I’m not here for a long time,
This shall become dust
And my subscriptions shall expire
Like organics back to earth,
Like music into silence
For it is without question
That life surely begets death.

Fragments of Meaning by Ned Tobin

River

A
I’m a mighty river
G
Blowin’ down today
F
The sky she seen me
G
My emptiness so cold

So she let er rain
All night till I drowned
Soaked every tree and shrub
Clung to my banks of rock

I roar with my head high
Every cold, cold black night
No need to set me loose
I am no eagle cry

Long ago my destiny
Was carved into the earth
Mountain streams far away
Come to me so cold

Walking

Though skies sit darkly
Reminiscing flatter plains,
I woke to a snowflake
Covering my name
Footsteps hardly criss-crossing
This empty expanse of our lane
So that magic could work
It’s betwickled strings
Into the heart of my sky.

Ungracefully Lacking

Insight has lost its worth
For it no longer blesses thy journey;
It is a burden, a hex,
Pointedly accusing
And draining all chai.

How often does it rain?
Even cold grass
Does not sprout green
For it has lost its vision,
Quest departed long ago
Sun turned into mold.

Gravel roads
And sombre trees
Who no longer speak;
Dormant, sleeping, away
Unto this vision
Cold and ungracefully lacking.